


[Working Title] The One With a Female Xanxus and an Arranged Marriage

by Night-Mare (Aoife)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage Related Consent Issues, Female Xanxus (Reborn!), Mist Compulsions, Other, Planned Patricide, References to Marital Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoife/pseuds/Night-Mare
Summary: The idea comes from Visconti, who has been the one stuck riding herd on his bastard daughter the majority of the time. (He's the only one strong enough to do so, and with hindsight, it had probably contributed to his Cloud suggesting this as a solution.) It makes a lot of sense; they needed the Cavallone to keep guarding their flank, and Xana was of an age with their remaining heir.





	[Working Title] The One With a Female Xanxus and an Arranged Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> A reference link for the panja: https://goo.gl/images/sEkgyK

The idea comes from Visconti, who has been the one stuck riding herd on his bastard daughter the majority of the time. (He's the only one strong enough to do so, and with hindsight, it had probably contributed to his Cloud suggesting this as a solution.) It makes a lot of sense; they needed the Cavallone to keep guarding their flank, and Xana was of an age with their remaining heir.

"But won't she eat him alive?" It's a serious question; if Xana had been male, he'd have thrown 'him' at the Varia by now, but she isn't.

"There are the Panja that the Second was gifted," his Cloud shapes the unfamiliar word carefully, and he hates the fact that he's seriously considering Visconti's suggestion, "- and if we describe them as his, then she will have no qualms about wearing them."

"And their ages?"

"They're old enough to marry by canon law, and we'd have to forge Xana's birth certificate anyway; if her mother registered her birth, it wasn't under any variation of 'Xana' we've been able to come up with. And there's no need for her to conceive an heir yet; that can wait until the Cavallone boy is Don." His Cloud's confidence makes up his mind, and they can word the marriage settlements to remove his 'daughter' from the line of inheritance. It will probably cost, but as a Sky-Sky pairing guaranteed a Sky heir, and the Cavallone Family were in financial straits, the expense can be kept down, and the truth of her heritage can be ignored.

"Very well. Start quiet negotiations with Don Cavallone; the last thing we need is for her to get wind of this early; it might drive her into the Varia regardless."

* * *

Waking up naked beside Xana di Vongola with a thick wedding band on his Ring Finger is not how he'd expected to turn fourteen. (Wouldn't have been how he'd hoped to turn eighteen, either; Xana terrifies him.) The fact he feels sticky, like he'd had a wet dream and cleaned up imperfectly only makes him more anxious, not less. The Wrath is still fast asleep, and he slips out of bed and … doesn’t fall over. He’s so used to his clumsiness that he almost falls over in shock, but wary of the terrifying beauty asleep in his bed, he checks the drawers for boxers because he’d like to have some dignity while he tries to figure out what the fuck.

The wedding certificate - a certified copy, a terrified part of his brain notes - is framed, behind a thin sheet that definitely isn’t plastic or glass, and is, as far as he can tell, genuine. The swatch of fabric in the jar feels like both of them and Madre di Dio, who had thought that was necessary, and can he kill them? Because maybe if he kills whoever had caused this, Xana _might_ let him live.

He peers more closely at the marriage certificate and recognises both his father’s signature and the notations beneath it that mean it had been a proxy marriage. So the second signature is probably the Vongola Ninth’s, as the Villa isn’t being torn apart by Don Timoteo in search of his daughter.

His head throbs in pain, and he recognises it as the after effects of a strong Mist compulsion, but it’s so insidious that he can’t do anything more than work within the boundaries that it’s forcing on him, and try to manage its effects for now. He’ll need to put some effort into finding himself a Mist, someone who he can trust with his Mind and his Flames, which means a Guardian. Not that he’s had much luck with finding anyone for any of his other ‘slots’; the nearest he’s come is one of his classmates, but Squalo isn’t _his_. He pinches the bridge of his nose; perhaps he should introduce the two of them.

The compulsion drives him back to the bed, and he curses and tries to resist, but that just ramps up the low-level arousal that comes from having a terrifyingly lethal woman in his bed into something that has the potential to be _blinding_. Apparently, he’s supposed to consummate their marriage again, and he doesn’t care that it will be patricide, he’s going to _murder_ his father if he thinks that forcing sex - even within the marriage bed - is a good idea. There’s a bit of wriggle room in it though and chooses to exploit it.

* * *

She comes awake on a gasp. She’s sore and naked, and her Flames feel oddly sluggish. The mattress is shifting beneath her, and she realises there has to be someone else in the bed with her, puts two and two together and gets sex, probably at least somewhat consensual on her part, or she’d be in a hell of a lot more pain than she was. The tongue - that’s the only thing that scorchingly hot touch _can_ be, unless she’s in a Mist’s bed - that makes contact with her clit makes her whine at the back of her throat, and she adds ‘considerate’ to the ‘not-an-old-school Italian male’ when her bed partner licks and flicks and teases at her.

Something jingles and she realises it’s her, that there are silver chains and rings encompassing her hands, and shards of memory start to put themselves together even as the tension builds, and she cums in a gush of fluids, to the apparent delight of the man - his appreciative moan gives him away; it’s too low for a woman - between her thighs. He doesn’t surge up the bed to fuck her the moment she starts to cum; instead, there’s a moan of relief. “Oh thank God. I’d hoped that would feed the fucking compulsion.”

“Dino Cavallone?” She sort of recognises the voice from the Formal Balls she’d been forced to attend. He is the clumsy youngest son of an Allied Don, and how the fuck had she ended up fucking him? He isn’t someone she’d have chosen to deal with the awkward issue of her virginity; not that he seems to have done a poor job of it, but he doesn’t even want to ‘play’ within their world, and she wants her father’s crown.

“Our ‘fathers’ -” he spits the word, and there’s a delightful edge to it, like he’s actually got a spine, “- have married us by proxy, and then I suspect your father’s Mist laid a compulsion on me to make sure we fuck regularly,” but then his words actually register and she's consumed with Rage. She expects the bedding to burn, Cavallone to scream, and then men to come running for her to kill, but her Flames don’t respond, remain sluggish and dormant.

He flinches when she raises her hand, and that soothes something in her soul, though she is still angry with him, angry with herself and angry with her father. "You're sure?"

"Our marriage certificate, or rather a certified copy of it, is on the dresser. And I recognise the damn Seal and Flames on Dad's half of it." She glares down the bed at him, and then twitches when rather than try to crawl up the bed and take advantage of her state, he sits back on his haunches. "I'm going to kill him and send Mama to therapy. If he thought this was okay..." She pushes further up on her elbows, and he isn't even hard, which has her re-evaluating things.

"Come here." He crawls up the bed warily sitting next to her at the head of the bed, but still not making physical contact. "Oh for fuck’s sake Cavallone," he shudders at the use of his surname, "- keep behaving yourself, and I won't try and kill you. Might make us both orphans though. Anyway want to check to see if you're right about the fucking Mist compulsion and see if I can do anything about it; whatever the old fuckers have done means I can't use my flames externally, but there might be a skin-contact loophole."

* * *

He admits - inside his own head, at least - to a degree of wariness as he allows Xana to touch him; her flames’ destructive capabilities are notorious, and even if he is under a compulsion, she could still consider him a rapist. And her opinion of rapists had been made clear the previous year when she'd set someone on fire at one of the Alliance's Balls.

But her touch doesn't burn, and his Flames curl and throb beneath his skin, wanting, and he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands, tells himself that she has no intention of being arousing with her touch. "This might hurt, pony-boy, -" fire burns through his veins, and he bites the inside of his cheek, refusing to be weak. He might not have chosen Xana, but she is his now, and "- oh, you're Cloudy. No wonder you want out."

Cloudy, him? Something shifts and the compulsion eases but doesn't fade, and she scowls, and a second hand - lethal, but slender - presses against his chest, and he almost bites _through_ his cheek because she's straddling him now. He knows that she doesn't realise what she's just done, more focused on challenging the compulsion and whatever is stopping her from throwing around her Wrath, but she is panty-less, and it would be so easy to thrust _up_ and into her body.

"That should make it a bit easier on you pony-boy. Not that I'm objecting to the way you handled the compulsion, but I think I prefer being asked before sex, thanks."


End file.
